Shoot Me
by Robin Red R
Summary: It's just a simple training exercise. Perfectly safe, right? Kid Flash has superspeed, after all… "I'm not running the risk of accidentally murdering my best friend," Dick deadpans. [Wally/Dick bromance-fluff. Slightly Birdflash. Set in Season 1. Oneshot.]


**Author's Note: **_Hi guys. This was supposed to be a drabble but it grew into a 3k oneshot so here, enjoy, Idon'tevenknowwhatthisis. Also, I apologize for the lack of updates on all my ongoing stories; I'm going through a bit of a hard time lately. Sorry ;w; A new Birdflash fanfic and/or the third chapter of 'Be my Boyfriend?' should be out sometime in May-ish if I can make it. (No promises though… :/ )_

_Get ready for sudden mood-changes in the middle of the fic as I am so infamous for doing…_

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**.:: Shoot Me ::.**

~x~

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"Shoot me." Kid Flash stands with his hands spread wide at his sides, a posture of surrender and vulnerability. The bright yellow of his costume is like a target; the red lightning bolt over his heart a bullseye. His eyes flash with determination behind the protective lenses of his goggles. "Rob, c'mon. Do it," he repeats.

The Boy Wonder is perched on a balancing beam twenty-five meters away, his fingers tapping a silent rhythm against the sleek barrel of the gun in his hands. He regards Wally impassively from behind the white lenses of his mask.

Guns aren't really his thing. Since the very beginning, Robin has learned to fight with just his own hands and feet, his entire survival on the field depending on just his cunning mind, hacking skills, and his tough, wiry build, at home in the air as he spins and throws kicks and punches with a Bat's characteristic grace. The occasional birdarang, smoke pellet, and holographic computer were all he'd ever needed. No superpowers, yet one of the most accomplished sidekicks – partners— on the job at only fifteen years old. No guns either.

The feel of the Desert Eagle pistol in his hands feels foreign; its sides glitter dangerously in the artificial light of the training room as Robin's fingertips trace over the designs on its grip.

Meanwhile, Wally makes an impatient noise and throws a chocolate bar at the younger boy's head, (it being the only small object on his person at the moment). Dick sighs and lifts the pistol to eye-level, taking aim at a crack in the wall above Wally's left shoulder.

Somehow Wally had talked him into doing this ridiculous exercise, arguing that if he trained himself to catch bullets out of the air with his superspeed before they hit him, he'd be virtually bulletproof. Or something along those lines. Seeing as that was not something the Flash, Batman, _or _Black Canary would ever agree to, Wally had used all his cards and roped his best friend into secretly doing this with him instead. So, Saturday morning found the two boys up at dawn in the training hall with a stolen Bat-gun and a lot of misgivings on Dick's part about the safety – and sanity – of this whole endeavor.

"Why don't you get Artemis to do this?" he murmurs, fingers tightening on the trigger, but not pulling it yet. "She'd have better aim than me."

"Because I don't trust her to not accidentally-shoot-me-on-purpose," Wally replies, rolling his eyes as if that were the most obvious thing. Which, it might very well be, knowing Artemis.

Dick smirks faintly, hesitates a second more, then shoots once swiftly at the air above Wally's shoulder. The sound of the shot ricochets off the echoing walls of the training hall, and even with his bird-sharp vision, Dick can't follow the bullet's trajectory. But there's no real need to, he realizes. There is no bullet hole in the wall, nor is there a spot of red blooming on Wally's body (as Dick may have secretly feared). Instead, the speedster sends him a self-satisfied grin, holding up the bullet between index and thumb.

"Dude! Check it _out_! When we're done here those thugs won't stand a chance. They'll be dealing with the all-mighty-super-speedy-bullet-catching-Kid-Flash, that's what!" A pause. "Hey," he laughs, "that's a tongue twister."

Robin narrows his eyes teasingly, and shifts the slant of the gun slung between his fingers. Without giving warning, he fires off four shots in rapid succession; two to Wally's left, two to his right. When the light film of smoke from the gunpowder clears, Dick sees that Wally is holding all five bullets in his palm.

'_Can't let his ego get to his head or I'll never hear the end of this,' _Dick vows silently to himself. Not to be outdone, he cocks the gun and opens fire, the pistol spitting out bullets at an alarming rate in an arc over Wally's head, and then, a few seconds later, aimed at his red-clad feet. When Dick straightens, hand set on his cocked hip, he is satisfied to see a very frazzled looking Kid Flash, as well as several holes in the concrete wall behind him. The majority of the bullets were still caught, however, but Dick supposes that's a good thing.

Wally blinks a few times, and then rubs his eyes, as if the flashing light from the gunfire had momentarily blinded him. It only takes him a few seconds to regain his composure though, and then that infuriating grin is back on his face as he holds the bullets up for his bro to see. Dick lets out a longsuffering sigh as Wally praises himself volubly.

"What next?" Leaning casually against the table, Dick twirls the gun lazily around his finger, and yeah, he thinks maybe using a gun might not be _that _bad. He especially likes the dark glint in Wally's eye when the speedster's gaze travels up his body.

"Hmm. Now you… you try to shoot me, for real this time." He points to his chest. "Right here."

Dick recoils immediately. "No way, KF. It's dangerous enough as it is shooting at something this close to your head, I'm not gonna… Not —no way."

"Dude, thugs won't be aiming at something _close _to my head, they're shooting to _kill_. If I don't train to catch a bullet meant for my heart, then this whole exercise has been for nothing."

"I'm not running the risk of accidentally murdering my best friend," Dick deadpans.

Wally pushes his goggles up his forehead, giving Dick an exasperated look. "I can _catch _the bullets, you saw me."

"Not all of them." Dick motions to the ones embedded in the concrete before him.

"_Rooob_," Wally whines. "We do dangerous stuff all the time and you never get this worked up about it. What's so different about this compared to, like… the time you 'accidentally' pushed me into the Gotham River even though you _knew _I couldn't swim? That water is pretty much poisonous too. You're lucky I didn't _die._"

Dick's lips twitch at the memory, and he glances at the ground. "This is different," he mutters under his breath, but his will seems to give in because a second later he raises the gun again, aiming it carefully at the Kid Flash insignia on Wally's chest. "Alright. On one, then?"

He pushes his bangs out of his eyes as Wally nods his acquiescence. Dick takes a deep breath: "Three… two… _one!" _He pulls the trigger with a violent jerk, as if afraid his fingers would not obey his command if he hesitated just a moment longer. Again, the shot rings out loud enough to make his ears vibrate, and it takes him a moment before he reopens his eyes, not having realized he'd closed them.

The instant his gaze focuses on Wally, however, he knows something is definitively wrong. The speedster's hands clutch tightly at his abdomen, every muscle in his body tense and stiff as a board. A confused, pained expression crosses his freckled face, and, as Dick watches in silent horror, Wally's legs buckle under his weight as he sinks slowly to his knees, head lowered on his chest. Dick stands there, frozen in slow-motion, the gun in his hand still smoking vaguely from the shot. Then time snaps back to its normal pace and he lets out a sharp gasp of shock and disbelief. Spurred into action, he throws the pistol to the side and sprints over to his friend, mind numb and only aware of a stomach-sinking feeling of undiluted panic.

This can't be happening.

"Wally…" he whispers, kneeling beside him, his black and yellow cape fluttering down around them like a shield. He eases the speedster's body onto its side, years of Batman's first-aid training drilled into his mind taking control and locking away the panic (for the time being). Robin attempts to pry Wally's fingers away from his stomach, but the speedster only moans in pain and jerks away, holding on tighter.

"Okay Wally, just hold on, I'll get… um…" He reaches up a hand to the com link permanently stationed in his ear, intending to call his mentor, or Black Canary, or – whoever picks up first, he honestly couldn't care less. But before he can do so, his wrist is grabbed firmly at superspeed, Wally's fingers effectively halting his progress.

Dick starts in surprise, his eyes meeting Wally's clear green gaze. It's only then that he notices the fact that _there isn't any blood visible_. Not a drop. Which… is technically impossible had it been a direct hit to his stomach as Wally's posture had implied. In fact, the only proof Dick has that Wally was even hit at all is the way he is clutching his middle, hiding the wound – if there is one – with his hand. And… _is that a_ _fucking _smile_ on his face?_

Wally, realizing from Dick's expression that he's been caught out, lets go of his friend's wrist and bursts into laughter.

"Oh my god, I _fooled _you! I _totally_ fooled you! I can't believe you didn't see right through that – you're Robin, you don't –" Wally trails off into incoherence, laughing and babbling over his victory, still splayed out on the ground.

Dick, on the other hand, says not a word, only stands up silently and pads to the other side of the training hall once the realization that _Wally'sfineWally'snotdyingIdidn'tactuallyshoothim _settles in. He sits down on the balancing beam with his back to the other boy, taking the water bottle sitting there and unscrewing the top. He turns all his attention towards the accustomed, mundane action of opening a water bottle and taking a few sips, unaware that his fingers are slowly crushing the flimsy plastic of the bottle in his grip. By the time Wally notices he's gone, the bottle is permanently disfigured.

"Rob?" Dick doesn't answer him. "Earth to Robin…" There's a brief breeze that ruffles Dick's hair and then Wally's standing just behind him, a worried, hovering presence. Dick wishes he would go away.

"Are you mad at me?" the redhead tries again, hesitantly. Dick absentmindedly reads the label on his water bottle – _Poland Spring – _and stays silent_._ Wally shuffles his feet. "Hey bro, look at me. Dick, it was just a joke!"

Dick spins around at that, eyes flashing behind the mask. "It's not 'just a joke', Wally! You don't _joke _about something like this. Especially not when we live the kind of life that we do, or when we have the kind of pasts that we have." He clenches his jaw and looks away.

Wally seems to treat this whole 'hero gig' as just a big joke, all running around saving people, and narrowly avoiding getting blown to bits or dumped in a vat of poison or abducted by invasive aliens because he's _lucky. _They're _all_ lucky. But that doesn't change the fact that they could die any day. Dick understands that, he knows the risk this kind of life has, and he accepts it. Plays with it, tests it. That's who Robin is. But he's not reckless. Wally? Dick is not so sure.

He doesn't understand what it feels like to lose the people closest to you. How _easy_ it is to lose them, forever. How the guilt and the empty hole in one's heart never truly goes away, even after years and years. If he knew, maybe he wouldn't throw his life around the way he does, and he certainly wouldn't _joke _about Death.

Dick sets the water bottle down on the floor with a jerky movement, and makes as if to stand up. He needs to get out, get away, _right now_… However, Wally is by his side in an instant, muscled arms wrapping around the acrobat's slender torso as he pulls him back down on the beam. Dick ends up half-sitting in his best friend's lap, the speedster's warm, humming body against his back holding him tight like a blanket.

It's one of the most comforting feelings he's ever known.

"Dude, I'm so sorry. That was really quite stupid of me, and I just — I didn't think—"

"Pigs will fly before the day comes that you _think _before you act," Dick mutters sullenly, because he still hasn't forgiven Wally yet.

"Dick." The redhead ignores the warning look Robin shoots his way – they're in the Cave and Wally has said his name _twice_ already, that's not acceptable! – and instead reaches for Dick's face, starting to gently peel off the domino mask covering Robin's eyes. "I'm an idiot and... I'm _sorry_," he whispers, breath ghosting over the younger boy's ear. And he means it, he really does.

Dick sighs loudly in defeat, leaning his head back till it rests against Wally's shoulder, face turned so they can look at each other. He takes a moment before he replies. "It's... okay. I kind of overreacted too so…" he rubs his temple wearily with one hand, "sorry for snapping at you. It just gets to me sometimes, you know."

Wally nods sympathetically, his eyes softening and grip tightening around Dick's body. He licks his lips tentatively and asks: "So, we're cool?"

Dick smiles; affirmative. "Yeah, we're cool." Green eyes search uncovered blue in a way that makes Dick's ears turn red, and for a second he almost thinks Wally is going to kiss him. The moment is broken, however, by the distinct rumbling of the speedster's stomach. The two boys pull out of their embrace, a little pink in the face but otherwise none the worse for wear.

"Eh, dude, I've only had two breakfasts today; definitively time for round three!" Wally exclaims, patting his midriff. Dick chuckles.

"I think M'gann has leftovers from last night's dinner in the fridge," he points out helpfully, and then stoops to pick up the discarded gun by his feet. He holds it gingerly between his fingers now, with none of the laidback ease he'd had earlier that morning.

"Great! We'll, uh, practice that again sometime later?" Wally jerks a thumb towards the pistol, seemingly unaware of his friend's discomfort.

Dick pauses. "How about… we don't."

Wally opens his mouth to retort angrily, but something in Dick's somber expression makes him change what he was about to say. Instead, a sly smile curves his lips upwards. "Not even if I insist that you look pretty hot when you shoot that gun?"

Dick purses his lips, carefully locking the pistol and tucking it into an empty slot of his utility belt before Wally can think of some other – dirtier – expressions involving a 'gun'. Pervert.

"Wally, you've known me for six years; you should know by now that flattery gets you nowhere," he snarks, purposefully raising a skeptical eyebrow at him.

Wally simply snickers and, to Dick's relief, drops the subject. It's around then that Dick truly forgives his idiot best friend for giving him one of the most heart-stopping scares of his life, almost comparable to what he felt at the moment of his parents'… deaths.

"Whatever, food first!" Wally shrugs off Dick's jibe and instead grabs his wrist, leading the way out of the gym on a beeline for the kitchen. Robin hastily pastes his mask back on one-handedly, albeit a bit lopsidedly. He squeezes the speedster's hand once, and Wally returns the favor, a silent code which means nothing and everything together.

Dick returned the Desert Eagle the following morning, and the two never tried _that_ particular exercise again. It was not, however, the last of their foolish and potentially life-threatening endeavors, not by far. But those were still to come.

**~x~ Fin ~x~**

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**Author's Note: **_Thank you for reading! A review with your opinion would be much appreciated. Btw, I don't endorse gun-use at all, I've just been watching too much Soul Eater lately haha xD _


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